


Good as a Wink

by Nerissa



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Attempted mugging, F/M, Gen, Hostage Situations, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerissa/pseuds/Nerissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to proposals of marriage, Eugene's timing is kind of terrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good as a Wink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OzQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/gifts).



As proposals went, it wasn’t the best. It might even have been the worst, which was saying something when you had already heard five. Flynn was _so_ persistent.

This was the first with a knife to her throat, though, so that was new.

“ _Eugene_ ,” she said warningly.

“Yeah, yeah, no, I know, but let me finish,” he urged, studying the alley wall as though their shared future were painted on it. “I think you’ll agree when you hear what I have to say.”

Rapunzel glanced sideways at the burly sailor who had waylaid them on their way to the market and asked for their help. Only it had turned out by “help” he meant “money” and he wasn’t really _asking_ so much anymore as he was _threatening_ and there was a knife, and it _hurt_ , and really, she was starting to see why her parents had been so insistent on assigning a bodyguard.

She wished she hadn't refused to bring them along.

Instead she and Flynn had slipped away together, giggling like a pair of naughty children. They had planned their escape like children too: she had even wrapped herself in a thick, dark blue cloak with a hood heavy enough to conceal her face and fancied herself magnificently disguised. Flynn had loyally promised nobody would ever imagine it was her and donned a cloak of his own just for the feel of the thing. Then they had left by the kitchen garden and wound their way through the streets toward the market hand-in-hand, gloriously truant.

The sailor probably should have set off warning bells. She’d been in the wider world enough to know a little bit of what was normal—at least as much as living in a palace let you learn such things—and a heavyset man in nautical garb asking plaintively for their assistance, “just here in the alley” . . . yes in hindsight, maybe she should not have started toward him as eagerly as she had.

Flynn had tried to stop her. He’d got half a protest out before he thought to reach for her hand, but by then she was out of reach. The sailor had grabbed her up effortlessly in a thick arm, crushing her mouth under a palm so that she could hardly even breathe, much less scream. He’d hauled her directly into the alley, counting on Flynn to follow.

Which of course he had. Flynn was no more used to summoning guards than she was, and he was really appallingly obedient when you applied pressure in the right areas.

The right area being, in this instance, Rapunzel’s throat.

“Look,” he had said, entirely too calm, “we don’t want any trouble. Just tell us want you want, we’ll give it to you, and you can let her go.”

“All right,” the sailor nodded, “let’s start with money.”

“Sure.” Flynn reached under his cloak and took out a heavy leather purse. “Should I just throw—?”

“Wait.” And that’s when the knife had come out. He released her mouth and pressed the blade under her chin, tight enough that she went instinctively to her toes to evade the pressure. “There. Nice and easy, all right? I don’t think you want my hand to slip any more than the lady does.”

A muscle somewhere along Flynn’s jaw had twitched but he made no other change in expression. He tossed the purse over in a gentle, accurate arc so it landed neatly in the man’s outstretched palm.

“And now you, girly. You got something to offer?”

She patted delicately under her own cloak, hand sliding through layers of rich, finely-woven wool until she found the little pocket set in the seam. She worked her purse loose and placed it, without comment, in the broad, waiting palm.

“There,” said Flynn. “That what you were after?”

“Yeah,” said the sailor, “it’s a start.”

That hadn’t sounded good. She had blinked rapidly and expressively, trying to silently communicate that she didn’t like the way that sounded. Flynn grimaced forbiddingly—at least, he made a face she knew he probably _thought_ was forbidding—and she relaxed. Okay, he knew this was bad too.

The only good thing so far was their captor didn’t seem to know who they were. He acted like he’d found nothing more than a young well-dressed couple with heavy purses, making their way to market. If they could keep it that way . . .

“Now,” the sailor said, “let’s see about the rest of it.”

“The rest?” she repeated.

“Yeah. These pretty little earbobs,” he flicked one finger against her earlobe, “and whatever it is your man over there has around his neck. Chain of some kind. Hand it over.”

Rapunzel helpfully retrieved her jewelry but Flynn didn’t budge. The sailor, seeing this, grumbled deep in his throat.

“You thinking she’s not worth your necklace, man? Don’t test my patience. Hand it over.”

But Flynn did not reach for the chain that disappeared into the folds of his cloak, on which hung the golden sun emblem of Corona, the mark of a high-ranking palace official.

Oh. _Oh._

If he handed that over and the sailor was at all familiar with the insignia, he would at least know he had people with more political and bargaining heft than your average merchant couple. And while there was no guarantee he’d act on that, there was also no way Flynn would want to take that chance. Not with her. The knife was risk enough; that the sailor could learn he actually held it to the neck of the princess was absolutely out of the question. Flynn wouldn’t allow it.

And that’s when he proposed. _Again_.

“You know blondie,” he said, “we should think about getting married.”

It was harder to say who was more taken aback by the suggestion: Rapunzel, or the man who held her.

“Eugene,” she said, but he disregarded the protesting note in her voice and requested that she hear him out first. The man who was pocketing her earbobs seemed to think that called for an explanation.

“You’re proposing to the lady but you won’t even hand over a bit of gold to save her life? I think maybe you don’t believe I’m serious.” He pulled up hard on the knife and Rapunzel let out a thin shriek before the hand was back, clamping around her jaw and sealing off any further noise.

“No, it isn’t that,” Flynn said, still studying the alley wall with every appearance of deep fascination. “Honest. I take you _very_ seriously, my friend. Just, I’ve asked her a few times already and she’s always put me off. You know? But I think that after everything we’ve been through—flood, near-drowning, concussion, and now . . . well, _this_ —it just seems like the next logical step. Don’t you think?”

“I think you need to hand me that chain, or the little lady isn’t going to be taking a next step with anyone. You get me?”

“Oh sure,” Flynn said calmly. “Sure, I get you.”

He looked back at them as he reached for the chain, locking eyes with Rapunzel. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the pulse of it echoing faintly around the alley, _clip clop, clip clop_ , almost like . . .

Like . . .

Her eyes widened over the hand. Flynn didn’t smile, exactly, but one corner of his mouth did a thing that might have been the start of one if he’d felt free to express himself. Instead he kept working at the chain, fumbling it once, then again. Fumbling it with a kind of careful artistry designed to keep the sailor’s attention off the quiet, echoing _clip clop_ on the cobbles of the alley behind them.

He got it off at last and swung it gently, a flat, finely-worked chain with a heavy gold disc at the end, the whole arrangement gleaming richly in the afternoon sun that filtered into the alley. Even Rapunzel found it hypnotizing, the slow, lazy arc, back and forth. Then—

“Catch!” Flynn flipped the chain forward. This toss did not appear half as well-aimed at the first. The medallion flew wide and the sailor, fixated on the dull gleam, instinctively flung out his hand to catch it.

Her mouth newly freed, the pressure on her throat slack, Rapunzel took a quick gulp of air even as Flynn barked “Rapunzel, _duck._ ”

She couldn’t, really, because of the knife. But she took the suggestion in the spirit it was intended and flung herself to the side instead, dropping to the ground of the alley just as a pair of horse hooves crashed into the sailor’s upper back, sending him flying to the ground.

He moaned but didn’t get up. When Rapunzel uncovered her head to see why, she found herself staring up at the broad, white underside of a smug horse. He was fitted snugly in trim dark leathers bearing the Palace insignia.

“Max!” Flynn greeted the horse cheerfully. “You are determined to make me glad to see you, aren’t you buddy?”

Max puffed out his chest in brief satisfaction, then nuzzled anxiously at Rapunzel and glowered at both of them. The reason for his ire was clear.

“I know,” Rapunzel said, shamefaced. “We should have taken the guards.” And she looked so woebegone that Maximus promptly backed down and focused on his prisoner instead while Flynn rushed to her side and got her back on her feet.

“Hey—hey,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead, her eyelids, the upper curve of each cheek. “You’re okay. We’re both . . . right?” He pulled back, staring anxiously at her. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No. I’m fine. I just . . . I’m just _really_ glad we’re both fine. And we should have taken the guards.”

“Well,” said Flynn, glancing over at Max, “maybe. Yes. I mean, yes. Probably. Actually, almost definitely. But I know why you didn’t want to, and we’ll just agree that next time we will. Or, we’ll take Max. Right, Max?”

Max harrumphed encouragingly and stomped his foot in assent. The man underneath his hoof yelped in muffled protest.

“All right?” said Flynn. Rapunzel nodded.

“All right.”

“Good. That . . . good.” He snugged his arm around her shoulder as a pair of palace guard, human this time, appeared around the corner, having finally caught up with Max. “Oh hey there, fellas. He’s pretty much got it covered, I think. But good to see you all the same.” He caught the pair of purses Max tossed back with a neat flick of the neck. “We could use an escort to market, me and my . . .” he looked down at her, half teasing, half hopeful, “fiancée?”

“Oh, no,” she said, and ducked out from under his arm, suddenly on much firmer ground. “That was not a proposal, Eugene. That was a _diversion_. And I did _not_ say yes, not even as a diversion. So that does _not_ count on any level.”

“All right, all right. Can’t blame a guy for hoping,” he laughed, and handed her back her purse.

The guards fell in step behind them as they left the alley and merged with the rest of the midday crowd. Rapunzel let herself be folded back under his arm, matching her stride to his with an effort. Flynn waited until the chatter from the crowd rose up around them to add, quietly, “I’ll just ask again later.”

She had no doubt he would.

She was looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two! I had wanted to treat you for Yuletide, but I wasn't as familiar with those fandoms so I was thrilled to see your f_s request for Tangled. I hope this was at least a bit in line with what you had in mind!


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